


Little Snowflake

by delicirony (deliciousirony), Watching_The_Bees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicirony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watching_The_Bees/pseuds/Watching_The_Bees
Summary: A short drabble in which Dean runs into a handsome stranger singing a song that summons up warm childhood memories of Christmastime, and he starts falling, falling, falling...





	Little Snowflake

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for a link to Delicirony's accompanying artwork! 
> 
> Link to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbbKjDjMDok

The air was crisp as fresh gingersnaps, and Dean’s knit scarf fluttered in the light breeze that blew through the evergreens. He drew in a breath so deep it hurt his lungs, and held it until his chest had warmed the air, then released it in a warm puff of white. A snowflake flitted through the air and landed on his nose. Dean smiled. Winter was his favorite season, and it wasn’t because of exploding fireworks or choking heat that accompanied the summer holidays. Instead it was about this - snow-heavy boughs on imperfect green trees, air sharp and refreshing in its cold bite, cozy sweaters and scarves and gingerbread cookies from Mom’s old recipe. Winter was comfort, stability, and safety. Winter was visions of Mary leaning over a small Dean’s bed, her voice angelic in its ethereal float, singing-

“Snowflake, snowflake, little snowflake…”

Dean stopped in his tracks. He would have thought he was hallucinating if that line hadn’t sounded pressed through gravel and wrung out dry rather than wrapped in cashmere and honey. Still, it was enchanting in its rawness, a song that Dean hadn’t heard sung in person since Mary had passed away.

“…Little snowflake, falling from the sky.”

The trees became a maze and Dean a lost boy guided only by the familiar song he made his mother play on repeat off the old cassette of children’s Christmas classics. He had always insisted it was because Sammy liked it, but Dean knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. Those were his favorite.

“Snowflake, snowflake, little snowflake…”

Dean pushed his way through a narrow passage between branches, spraying snow on himself and the man in front of him, who promptly stopped singing. “Sorry-“ Dean began.

“It’s okay,” the man said, his voice like river rock on speaking. “Who doesn’t like a little snow in their hair?”

After his body skipped a heartbeat, Dean took another to fear that he was being sarcastic, that he was angry and hiding it behind that beautiful, placid face. But the corner of the man’s lip was curled just enough, and there was only a kind light in his eyes. “You’re right.” Dean quipped, “It gives it a nice sparkle.”

Dean could’ve sworn the man’s _eyes_ sparkled at that. He held out his hand. “I’m Castiel.”

“Dean.” They shook hands through leather gloves, skin on skin on skin on skin. “So, uh. You here with your family? Picking out a Christmas tree?”

Of all the unsubtle ways to go about this. Dean could’ve melted as easily as a snowflake on Castiel’s palm.

The twitch of Castiel’s lip made Dean certain he knew the game he was playing. “No. My brothers argued for so long about who should come get the tree that eventually I volunteered just to get out of the house.” He scanned the field of trees with a slow, lingering gaze that Dean wouldn’t mind being directed at him. “How about you?” Ah, there it was.

Dean shrugged. “I just come out here to walk; I like the smell. I live alone and go to my brother’s place for Christmas. There’s not really much point in me getting a tree just for myself, you know? Seems like a waste to cut down a tree just for that.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean started, feeling his cheeks redden and not from the cold. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t like the thought of some little kid convincing their parents last minute to come get a live tree and having them all gone, but some perfect one sitting in my living room with only me around, you know?”

Castiel inclined his head, the red tip of his earlobe brushing the soft scarf he wore. “That’s true. If my nieces and nephews come every Christmas, I would try to convince my brothers of the same.”

Dean shuffled his feet, packing the snow down into the dying grass. “No kids of your own, then?”

“No,” Castiel replied. “They’re a bit harder to have when you’re gay.” Dean tried his best not to react, but when Castiel’s eyes flicked to his, he glanced away a little too quickly. There was no chance that they were both playing different games now.

“Yeah, I feel you,” was all Dean managed in reply.

After a beat of silence, Castiel reached up to scratch his neck. “So… if you’re just walking around, do you want to help me pick out a tree?”

Dean smiled and nodded in answer, losing his words to the chill of the breeze. They wandered through the rows of trees, Castiel stopping every now and then to ask, “How about that one?”

“Too tall,” Dean would answer. “Unless you have cathedral ceilings in a mansion or something, it’d never fit.”

Castiel would nod and carry on. “That one?”

“It’s so wide. Do you have room for that?”

When Castiel admitted he didn’t, they kept walking until he stopped again, always so sudden. “That one.” This wasn’t a question.

“Isn’t it a bit scraggly?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

The way Castiel’s eyes searched Dean’s face for any hint of disapproval sent something warm through Dean’s chest. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Once they had paid for the tree and seen it loaded safely onto a truck and ready to be delivered to Castiel’s, Dean shuffled his feet in the snow. “So, uh, I guess this is it? You should go home and decorate that with your family, yeah?”

Castiel nodded. “Yeah, I suppose. Would you like a ride home? Or did you drive?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at nothing. “I, uh. I don’t live too far. I can just walk.”

“Are you sure?”

If Dean got in Castiel’s car, where the heater would turn the snowflakes on the man’s dark hair to glistening drops of water and the smell of Castiel would surround him, he wasn’t sure he would want to get out.

“Yeah, it’s not a bad walk. I’m in no rush.” Castiel surveyed Dean as he turned away with an awkward little wave. “So, uh. Nice meeting you. Merry Christmas.”

With his back to Castiel, Dean shuffled away, dredging up fresh snow with his boots.

“Dean!” Castiel called. Dean pretended he didn’t hear, ears numb and half blocked with his thick scarf. “Dean!” That time was closer, accompanying a hand on his arm, gently asking him to _hold on_.

“Yeah?” Dean asked with a little reluctance.

Castiel swallowed. “Would you like to come decorate the tree with me?” His words came out in a rush, like one big string slurred together. “My brothers can be a lot, but I’d be grateful for the help, and you were so good at picking out a tree, it’d be a shame for you not to be able to see it all pretty.”

Dean blinked, snowflakes latching to his eyelashes. In a split second, he decided, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

The smile that split Castiel’s face could’ve melted the snow in a ten foot radius. “Excellent. Come on, I’ll make hot chocolate.”

Castiel’s grip tightened on Dean’s arm, leading him away while humming under his breath the tune of the song.

_Snowflake, snowflake, little snowflake, falling, falling, falling, falling, falling, falling, falling, falling, falling…_

Dean looked up at the sky, blinding white with snow. It wasn’t the only one falling that day.

 


End file.
